A Heart Colder Than Magic

Five consecutive victories. That was how many times Kharzoveth Imperial University had claimed the Sovereign Trials championship, leaving Noxvaris Sovereign University with five years of unfinished revenge. And everyone at Noxvaris knew it. “They say Kharzoveth has already selected its candidates for the next Trials,” a student remarked inside Meridian Hall. “Apparently, their first-year prodigies are stronger than our senior finalists.” “Rumors,” another replied, though his expression betrayed his concern. “Nobody can be that far ahead of us.” “They have won five times. How many more victories do you need before you admit they're better?” A few students laughed. Others looked toward the enormous windows overlooking the university grounds. Noxvaris was not an ordinary institution. Its towers rose above the surrounding mountains, their black stone surfaces threaded with silver runes. Bridges connected suspended buildings, while enchanted waterways flowed upward between the spires. Every student admitted through its gates possessed exceptional magical ability, political influence, or a bloodline powerful enough to demand attention. Yet none of that had been enough to defeat Kharzoveth. “We need someone who can change the outcome,” a girl said. “We need an entire generation who can.” The conversation might have continued had the distant sound of a Veylith not interrupted it. Outside, a sleek black vehicle crossed the university's outer boundary without touching the ground. Its astral-alloy frame reflected the morning light, while rotating rune rings circled its sides. Silver currents moved beneath its surface, carrying it effortlessly toward the central entrance. Several students abandoned their conversations to watch. “Whose Veylith is that?” “Look at the alloy. That isn't standard university transport.” The vehicle descended before the entrance, its rune rings slowing until they stopped completely. Its arrival was forty-five minutes late. The guards approached with practiced authority, prepared to question whoever had disregarded the university's schedule. One of them raised his hand toward the driver's side, then froze when the vehicle's crest became visible. An obsidian sigil surrounded by a silver crown. His expression changed immediately. He lowered his hand and stepped aside. The second guard followed, his posture straightening as recognition settled over his face. The door opened. Rhaze Draxevian Vaustren stepped out. His immaculate obsidian coat bore silver clasps and a high collar, while a dark mantle rested over one shoulder, embroidered with the crest the guards had recognized. His black hair was neatly arranged, his features sharply defined, and his expression carried the unmistakable indifference of someone who had never needed to explain himself to strangers. He glanced at the entrance. “Am I late?” The nearest guard hesitated. “By forty-five minutes, sir.” “Then the schedule was clear.” Rhaze continued walking. The guard did not dare remind him that the schedule had also required punctuality. By the time Rhaze entered Meridian Hall, word of his arrival had spread through the university. Students turned toward him, their reactions ranging from admiration to nervous anticipation. His name was familiar even to those who had never spoken to him. Powerful. Wealthy. Brilliant. And notoriously difficult to approach. Girls whispered behind their hands. Several students straightened when he passed. Others stepped out of his way before he reached them. Rhaze acknowledged none of it. He took a seat near the back, removed a silver-edged document from his pocket, and looked at it as though the gathering had little to do with him. At the front of the hall, Professor Vaelric approached the speaking platform. “Silence.” The conversations ceased. “Today's assembly concerns the upcoming academic assessments and our preparations for the Sovereign Trials. As you are all aware, Noxvaris has suffered five consecutive defeats against Kharzoveth Imperial University.” A few students shifted uncomfortably. “This institution does not intend to make it six.” The professor allowed the statement to settle before continuing. “We will strengthen our assessments, review our competitive selections, and address any deficiencies in our current training methods. However, there is another matter.” He glanced toward the entrance. “We have accepted a transfer student from Kharzoveth Imperial University.” The hall erupted in whispers. “From Kharzoveth?” “Why would anyone leave that university?” “Did they lose their sponsorship?” Professor Vaelric raised his hand. The noise gradually subsided. “She will be joining your cohort effective immediately. I expect you to treat her according to university regulations rather than your assumptions.” The doors opened. The girl who entered did not look around to admire the hall. She simply walked forward. For one brief moment, the gathering seemed to forget what it had been discussing. Zarethielle Ashthorne possessed a beauty that was difficult to dismiss and even harder to categorize. Her dark hair fell in smooth lengths, deep red highlights catching the light whenever she moved. Her crimson eyes carried a faint gray undertone, their color as striking as the expression behind them was unreadable. Her midnight-black uniform followed the formal Noxvaris design, its silver-thread seams tracing precise lines across the jacket. An asymmetrical mantle rested over one shoulder, secured by an obsidian clasp. Rune-set cuffs adorned her sleeves, and fine silver patterns disappeared beneath the split sides of her long coat. There was no family crest on her uniform. No visible insignia. Nothing that announced her lineage. She stopped before the professor. “Zarethielle Ashthorne,” Professor Vaelric announced. “Transferred from Kharzoveth Imperial University. She will attend the same advanced courses as the rest of this cohort.” A student leaned toward his companion. “Why would Kharzoveth let someone like her leave?” Another frowned. “Can you sense her magic?” The question passed quietly between several students. No one answered. Most powerful mages carried a recognizable magical signature, an invisible presence that revealed itself to trained senses. Zarethielle's presence offered nothing they could identify. It was as though the space around her had no interest in being understood. She neither explained herself nor attempted to prove anything. Professor Vaelric indicated an empty seat. Zarethielle walked toward it without looking at the watching students. She did not look at Rhaze, either. For the first time that morning, his attention lifted from the document in his hands. He observed her for several seconds, waiting for the slightest acknowledgment of his presence. Nothing came. Her indifference was not nervousness. It was not an attempt to appear mysterious. She simply behaved as though the most admired student in Noxvaris did not warrant a second glance. Rhaze's expression remained unchanged. He lowered his eyes to his document again. But he had stopped reading. At the front, Professor Vaelric resumed the assembly, unaware that the new transfer had already become the subject of a hundred private theories. Zarethielle sat alone, her hands resting quietly on the desk. She had not come to Noxvaris for its reputation. She had not come to challenge its strongest students. And she had certainly not come to attract the attention of Rhaze Draxevian Vaustren. She had a purpose. Until that purpose was fulfilled, everything else was irrelevant. Including the five consecutive victories Kharzoveth had claimed. Including the university that now surrounded her. Including the people who had begun to wonder who she was. Zarethielle Ashthorne had no intention of answering them. Not today. Not until she decided the answers were worth giving.